Care
by DeathtoInsomnia
Summary: Jet and Zuko have a little chat over the phone. Will it end up badly or will it end up good?


"No one cares! No one listens! No one ever does!" Zuko screamed through the phone, his stern voice dripping with malice and hatred, as if he had attempted to put all of his venom into those three simple little words. No. One. Cares. It was true. No one did care. At least about Jet anyway. A stray tear dripped from his left eye. _Like they always said, right? If you start from the right it's out of happiness, but if it's from the left it's from depression. _

"I bet your parents never listened to you either, huh? I bet you were the bane of their day. The disgusting piece of shit, that reminded them of their past. At least my father had the generosity to put the them out of their misery, where as you forced them to live your sorry ass. I bet-" I hope you burn in hell with your bitch of a mother." With that Jet snapped the phone shut, a familiar sting behind his eyes forming.

Scolding hot tears began to drench his eyes as they welled within them. No one cares. Those three words were ringing through Jet's mind, rattling his brain. Maybe someone had put Zuko up to it? No. That doesn't seem right. Zuko may have daddy issues, but he still does things on his own time. The moist tears escaped his irises, and rolled slowly down his now pale cheeks. Of course Zuko had hit him right in the parental issues. As if Jet didn't have enough of them without Zuko pointing them out. Images of his abusive mother flashed in his mind, playing a flashback from several years ago.

Jet –as only a young child- glanced up at his mother, tears welling up in his child-like eyes. He appeared eight or nine at the time. His eyes were filled with sorrow, and depression, but most of all anger, and frustration. He couldn't get the tenth stance correct. He could barely get the first one right, let alone the tenth. Every time he attempted the tenth stance, his hands were always tilted the incorrect way. The flicking of his wrist was incorrect. His breathing was incorrect.

Always, he could never get anything right, no matter how hard he tried. "Mommy?" a child's voice inquired, his minor hand gripping the laced hem of his mother's silk gown as he tugged tenderly. "Mommy. Daddy scratched me again." He said, a quiver in his voice. Bright red scarlet trickled from Jet's skinny, twig of an arm. His mother narrowed her chocolate brown irises at the small boy, and glared down at him, spying the lengthy, bloody scrape on his arm. It weaved around his forearm and curled around his elbow, leaving a deep spiral scar going down to his wrist. Dark red crimson continued to leak from the gash in the appendage.

Tears rolled down his reddened cheeks, a loud groan escaped Jet's lips as he attempted to wipe the blood away with the white tips of his threaded sleeve, causing scarlet to seep through, making dark red stains on the blank canvas that was Jet's shirt. Jet's mud puddle eyes scanned over the deep scar that was now under his shirt. Blood flowed through, and between the shirts stitching. Anxiety boiled within Jet, his eyes darting every which way, his diminutive stomach twisted in knots. Nervousness ripped through his body, making him shudder. "Momm-" smack. The back of his mother's hand slapped his left cheek, causing Jet to fall to the icy, gravel. Shards of pointed rocks dug into his back, making a lot of other punctures in yet another part of his skin.

"Shut up Jet! No one cares! No one cares now, and no one ever will! Just keep your mouth shut!" his mother scolded, her hand going down to grip his arm, her fingernails daggers drilling into the abrasion that was his gory limb. "Me and daddy hate you. Go away, and remember," she specified joyfully, faking a smile for the affect. "Never talk again." With that she placed a hand on Jet's lower back, and shoved him up the stairs , forcing him to his room.

Minutes later the theater in Jet's mind shut down the movie, along with the rest of his childhood memories. Jet ran his fingers along the silk sleeve of his traditional Japanese shirt. It was a light teal green, that resembled fresh ground tea leaves, that sparkled with the morning dew showing a fresh start of a cool, summer day. Vines twirled around the front and the back of the soft material. They curled around his waist and up into a spiral design. Like the scar that had been carefully placed on him several years ago. By his loving, freaking father. As a child, when Jet would watch one of his sitcoms on television about a loving family, he would secretly wish that his family was just like that. Loving. Compassionate. Caring. But, alas no one cared about little ole Jet. Zuko was right, even worse…his mother was right. Jet had always yearned for his mother's affection, but he had yet to have any from anyone.

As an infant, she had shunted him away, and told him to leave her alone. But as he progressed, and got older, her abuse progressed and got worse. Very, so very worse. Sometimes she would smack his arm roughly if she felt generous, but at other times –when she wasn't feeling as generous- she would harshly beat him until he was on his knees, begging for mercy, and forgiveness. And when that would happen she would push him over, and start a rant, telling him how much she despised his very being, how she just loathed the fact that he continued breathing every day.

Just like Zuko. Exactly, like Zuko. Both of his parents hated him, like Zuko. If Jet's mother were still alive, her and Zuko would be the best of friends. Jet squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to push the thought of his past, or even present into the back of his mind as he swallowed a sob, pain shooting through him. Both mental and physical. Pain heaved down on Jet's heart, a moan of agony escaping him. It felt like a thousand needles were piercing through the helpless, throbbing organ. Jet set a careful hand where his heart was, and brushed his fingers around the area on his chest. _Budump-budump-budump, _his heart sang.

A sudden depression engulfed him. Random, stray tears dribbled from Jets' eyes, and fell into puddles on the blank, dark, plastic screen of his cell phone. He wiped the simple, tiny bits of liquid off the plastic, causing it to smear. Caring wasn't even an option by now. A loud, obnoxious knocking echoed throughout the room. Jet stood up, carelessly, preparing a big smile to give the knocker. "Yes?" he questioned, an inquisitive tone taking over. A disoriented Aang stood in the doorway, rocking on the balls of his feet, an apologetic expression filling his features. The teal arrow on the top of his head was slightly scrunched with confusion. Aang quirked a single eyebrow slowly.

"I-I'm sorry for interrupting you, but I was just wondering where Katara is," Aang stated, almost as professional as possible. He folded his hands, and set them in the center of his cloak covered abdomen. Jet shook his head silently as he forced his false smile to enlargen. "Nope, sorry. She might be with Sokka though." Jet said. The soft corners of Aangs' mouth curled into a large smile. "Alright, thanks. It's good to see the two of them bonding more." Aang said, turning himself around, Katara's name finding the way out of his lips before he left the doorway. He bolted after where she should've been. Or where he thought she was.

Jet sighed, closing the door, his hand gripping onto the slick, metallic doorknob. He calmly released it, and collapsed to the wooden floorboards, a sob finally escaping him. Finally. He was crying. He hadn't done that in years. He hated it. "When I saw my parents burn where they were standing, is it bad, that I enjoyed it?" he cried quietly as he murmured things to himself. "But I loved them. So much." Snot dripped from his nostrils as he sniffed loudly, and grotesquely. The crying continued on for twenty or so minutes, until finally Jet was able to stop. "I guess no one does care. Zuko was right. No one cares about me." 


End file.
